


Rise of the Sand Snakes

by Knight_Terror



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knight_Terror/pseuds/Knight_Terror
Summary: Shortly before the fall of Aerys Targaryen and the sacking of King's Landing, a young Prince Oberyn Martell is returning to Dorne with his daughters Obara and Nymeria. Blocked at a river crossing by a pompous lord from the Reach, Oberyn challenges the man to a trial by combat to determine the right to cross first. The consequences would ignite a civil war between two great houses that would reverberate across the next several decades, and as adults, the Sand Snakes are forced to finish what their father began.





	Rise of the Sand Snakes

The sky was raining fire down upon them, the harsh afternoon sun scalding them alive like sea turtles upon the sand, but Titus Locklear refused to be delayed. Sweat ran down his brow and stung his eyes, the back of his neck throbbed with the beginnings of sunburn and his leather riding cloak was sweltering him alive, but he stubbornly continued to bear its weight. In the distance Oldtown began to take shape upon the horizon, the second-largest city in Westeros, and once he got there he swore he would cast off all these burdensome garments and hurl himself into the cool waters of the Sunset Sea, but before that he would arrive with dignity before the city gates, dressed in his finest vestments as majestic and strong as the ram’s head upon his sigil, as was expected of him as one of the wealthiest lords of the Reach. 

He spurred his snow-white horse faster down the path towards the city, not even bothering to glance behind him to see if the wheelhouse carrying his children was keeping up with him. It was the obligation of its driver to meet his pace, not the other way around. A lord did not inconvenience himself to better accommodate his servants. When he was a boy, his father had once been forced to postpone his hunt because his stable boy had been unable to locate his saddle. After apologizing to his guests for the delay and insisting they begin the hunt without him, Titus had watched as his father had dragged the lad into the armory and smashed his hands to a pulp with a forging hammer after removing his tongue to silence his screams.

“Never forget who you are, son.” His father had reminded him afterward, the bloody hammer still in his hand. “You are highborn, and they are your small folk. If they ever fail in their duties or forget their place, it is your right, your obligation, to discipline them. Peasants who have no respect for your authority are of no use to you and must be made an example of.”

Titus had never forgotten that day, and he had followed his father’s example to the letter ever since. If the wheelhouse driver could not make the horses keep pace with his own he’d have the man join him in the Sunset Sea with his arms bound and his legs broken. 

Beside Titus on a great black horse rode his closest friend and bodyguard Milo, a Dothraki born into slavery and sold to his father when Titus was nine. At the time Milo had been a small underfed boy of about six who looked too weak to even lift a spoon, but in time had grown into a great brute of a man with bronze skin and wild black hair. Clad in heavy grays and greens, the colors of house Locklear, Milo looked equally as uncomfortable by the sun’s brutal assault as Titus felt. The dust of the dry road was being kicked up by their horse’s footfalls and choking their breath, which was nearly as irritating as the constant swatting away of the bugs trying eagerly to bite into any exposed skin they could find.

“Dragon’s fire couldn’t be worse than this fucking heat,” Milo spoke as he wiped his brow, his voice deep yet refined, without a hint of his once gruff Dothraki accent. Years in Titus’s service had changed him into as close of a Westerosi nobleman as he would ever become. “We should leave the road and travel up the coast and at least have some shade over our heads and feel the spray of the sea on our backs.” 

Titus shook his head. “That would be more comfortable but add unnecessary time. We’ll reach Oldtown faster taking the Stranger’s Crossing over the Honey Wine River and straight on into the city. Stay this course and we’ll arrive there in an hour.” 

“The Stranger’s Crossing will barely be wide enough for the wheelhouse to cross,” Milo replied bitterly. 

Titus considered. The entire reason he had decided to journey this particular route instead of taking the Kingsroad was because it was very rarely traveled by, and the nature of his visit to Hightower needed to remain a secret for as long as possible. The only complication besides the exposure to the sun the entire way was the narrow stone bridge called Stranger’s Crossing running over the river. It hadn’t been built for coaches or long processions of travelers of any kind, and therefore was really only wide enough for about four men to walk abreast, yet that didn’t stop some lords from attempting to take the bridge all the same with their mile-long convoys following obediently behind them. 

Titus was sure he had seen wheelhouses cross the bridge before, and therefore hadn’t thought twice about having the children follow behind him in the lavish comfort of the large carriage, but now he examined the possibility that their journey could come to an awkward halt once they were within shouting distance of their final destination.  


“The bridge won’t be a problem,” Titus responded after a moment. “I won’t allow it to be.”

_____________

After another forty minutes, they reached the lengthy stone crossing that ran diagonally over the rushing torrent of the Honey Wine River towards the sea. As tempted as Titus was to dismount and splash water onto his sweat-drenched face, he resisted and immediately started over the bridge, the heavy paces of his horse echoing loudly off the stone. Milo followed without a word and the banner carrier came right behind, the Ram’s head banner dancing in the wind, its golden horns glinting in the sun against a dark green field.  


Titus allowed himself a moment’s pause as he turned and saw the wheelhouse driver carefully ease the horses forward after only a second’s hesitation, and without even scraping the stone sides the wheelhouse was upon the bridge and moving easily. It was going to make it, though just barely. There was no way man or beast could have gotten around it now from either direction. 

Titus turned back around towards Oldtown and continued forward in quiet relief. The difficult part was over, and as long as the wheelhouse didn’t break one of its wheels as they crossed they no longer had anything to fear. He absent-mindedly swatted at a mosquito on the back of his neck and his slap against his sunburned skin caused a sensation of being stabbed with a firebrand and he cursed out loud. 

“Seven hells!!” He spat. “I’ll welcome the next five-year winter if it will rid me of these fucking…”

He suddenly stopped, his outburst cut short as he noticed at the far end of the bridge another carriage had begun to cross, coming slowly towards them. His bitter, barely restrained fury suddenly turned to a fiery uncontrollable rage.

“Should we stop?” His banner carrier asked from behind him.

“No!” Titus snapped. “With me! Keep moving forward!”

Titus spurred his horse onwards into a steady gallop and Milo and the banner carrier following just behind. As they neared the center of the bridge Titus clearly made out the sigil waving from the front of the procession. A red sun pierced by a golden spear. House Martell of Dorne.

"Seven… Fucking… HELLS!!"

Titus reigned in his horse and dismounted angrily as the Dornish banner carrier rode forward to meet them. 

“What in the name of the Maiden’s cunt do you think you’re doing!?” Titus spat before the man had even spoken a word. “In the name of King Aerys Targaryen, I demand you remove yourself from this bridge until my company has crossed.”

The Dornish rider looked passed him as if he hadn’t heard him, examining the approaching wheelhouse with irritation and disdain. 

“Didn’t you hear me Dornishman?” Titus snarled through clenched teeth and put a hand on his sword hilt. The sword had been in his family for generations and had been passed down to him after his father had choked to death at Titus’s wedding feast. It was called Blood Maiden and his father had insisted he carry it after he was gone to defend House Locklear from any enemy foolish enough to challenge them. 

Here and now, an enemy was slowly coming forward, daring enough to try to challenge him, and how appropriate it was that after a long journey of being assaulted by the heat, his body blistered and bitten and his patience at its end, their sigil happened to bear a blazing sun.

The rider still refused to acknowledge Titus’s command, even when Milo himself dismounted and stood beside his master, the two of them together forming a human blockade from which no Dornish traveler would ever be able to pass. 

The approaching carriage finally came to a halt and a voice called from within. 

“Why have we stopped?” 

“Apologies my prince, there are men on the bridge preventing us from crossing.” The banner carrier replied. 

“Tell them to let us pass before I lose patience and cut their balls off.” The voice from the carriage called back.

The Dornishman looked Titus in the eye and spoke. “In the name of Princess Elia Martell, wife of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and future queen of Westeros, remove yourselves from our path.”

Titus spat at the hooves of the Dornishman’s horse. “You may be in service to the princess, but I’m next in line as Hand of the King, chosen by Aerys Targaryen himself, and his word outweighs all others. You have one minute to turn your carriage back or else I’ll have it heaved into the river.”

The Dornishman didn’t speak, only continued to stare back at him with cold, unflinching eyes. The voice from the carriage came again. 

“They’re not going to move, are they?” 

“No, my prince.” The banner carrier confirmed.

There came the sound of a heavy door being forced open angrily and then being slammed shut again, and quick ferocious footsteps heading in their direction. 

Titus watched as a dark-haired young man clad in a gold-colored tunic worn open to display his chest came from around the banner carrier. He wore a black belt and fine leather boots and had a silver dagger strapped to his side. Even though Titus had never met him before, he knew at once exactly who he was. 

“Well, Oberyn Martell, the infamous Red Viper of Dorne.” Titus scoffed and walked forward a few paces, his hand still on Blood Maiden’s hilt. “You’re a long way from Sunspear and the protection of your brother, as well as King’s Landing and the protection of your sister.” 

“Neither of which I’ll need to remove you from my path.” Oberyn countered, his face calm but his words barely concealing a mixture of hatred and fury, his eyes first evaluating Titus, then Milo, the wheelhouse parked not far behind them and finally the sigil Titus’s own bannerman carried. 

Oberyn cracked the faintest of smirks, and his voice was suddenly more collected. “The golden-horned ram of house Locklear, always first in line to empty the chamber pots of house Tyrell.”

“You have no idea to whom you speak.” Titus snarled and took another confident step forward. “Tywin Lannister has resigned his post as Hand of the King. I’m on my way to receive confirmation from Maester Rowan of Hightower that I will be the next one to wear the badge, and when that happens I intend to remember very carefully the events that took place here on this bridge.”

“You do not wear the badge yet,” Oberyn replied, his smirk grew into a sly grin. He seemed to be put more at ease the closer Titus approached. “And while you stand here barking like a dog in heat my sister shares her meals daily with our king.”

Titus refused to let himself lose ground. “My wheelhouse was upon this bridge before yours, which gives me the right of passage, but even if it wasn’t, this bridge resides in the Reach, not in Dorne, and therefore the laws of gods and men favor me. Now remove yourself before I have my men burn that carriage to ash so that we can ride over it.”

Oberyn’s grin vanished and his face went cold again. “That carriage carries my daughters. My little Obara is returning home with me for the very first time after being hidden from me by her mother in Oldtown all her life. My baby Nymeria is barely two years old, and I was holding her as she slept until I was forced to leave her so I could come out here and exchange words with you.” Oberyn slowly drew his dagger out of its sheath with his left hand and ran his right hand nimbly over the blade. 

“You’ve threatened my daughters, and I will not let that go unpunished. You were free to leave before, but now I’m afraid you must stay. We’ll let the gods decide who walks over the ashes of the other. I demand a trial by combat, and the first to draw blood shall be the first to pass.”

\------------- 

Titus stood in the center of the bridge, his silver armor gleaming in the sun, his ram’s head helmet fixed upon his head, Blood Maiden unsheathed and raised high, eager to slay the grinning Dornish snake.

Milo approached him to hand him his shield and check the straps on Titus’s armor one last time. 

“You should let me fight him instead.” He muttered to Titus. “I understand he’s insulted your family, but once you wound him it will cause conflict between the Reach and Dorne and may put pressure on the king to reconsider his offer to you. If I wound him instead your hands are clean.”

Milo had never encountered a foe he couldn’t defeat with any type of weapon, and Titus was confident the former slave could have easily beaten the famed Red Viper of Dorne, but despite that, the Dornish prince was still Titus’s own to defeat. He had defied his house and his position, and it would bring permanent shame upon him in his son’s eyes if he allowed such dishonor without spilling the blood of the offender himself. His father hadn’t needed anyone else to punish the stable boy after all.

“My hands will remain clean regardless,” Titus responded, his voice echoing slightly from within the helmet. “I’m not going to stop at just wounding him.” 

Milo stared quietly back at him, the concern and uncertainty suddenly fading from his eyes. Titus continued. “Once I’ve finished him you’ll kill his men and burn his carriage and we’ll dump the bodies into the river, and no one will ever know of what happened here.”

“His daughters as well?” Milo asked, glancing towards the carriage. 

“Of course his fucking daughters as well,” Titus replied with impatience. “Are you going to have a problem killing bastard children?”

Milo paused a moment before replying. “No.”

“Good.” Titus glanced behind him to see his two young sons Aiden and Rylan leaning out of the wheelhouse to get a better look at their father in his armor.  
“No matter what happens, make sure they watch it all. Even what follows after Oberyn falls. They have to understand how highborns respond when disrespected by those beneath them.”

Titus hesitated and then asked. “Do you think he stands a chance against me?”

Milo glanced towards Oberyn. “Difficult to say. He is said to have an impressive reputation, but I’ve seen you slay men twice his age and size with ease. Remember that Bravosi pirate you killed on the beach?”

Titus chuckled. The evening before his first son had been born he and Milo had been lying upon the sands enjoying the sunset with some excellent Arbor wine and two ravishing Bravosi slave girls to keep them company when the captain had come to take his head for delaying his departure. He had killed the large bald man by grabbing a fistful of his goatee hair and driving his knife through the man’s eye. He had held his son for the first time with dried blood upon his hands.  
Titus looked back at Milo. 

“I’m confident in my skill, but if he attempts some kind of underhanded trick…” 

Milo nodded and rested his hand on the hilt of his own sword, the traditional curved Dothraki arakh. Milo had mastered the Westerosi broadsword and he was just as capable a swordsman as any Westeros-born knight Titus had ever seen, but he preferred when Milo carried the arakh. It gave him a more fiercesome look and intimidated most other men, leaving them unwilling to test their skills against a seemingly foreign warrior with a strange weapon. 

Titus was surprised to see that Oberyn had not donned any type of armor at all, but instead was still wearing the open tunic with his ornate leather boots. He carried a long jagged spear at his side instead of a sword and bore no shield of any kind. In fact, he had practically no protection from Titus’s sword whatsoever. 

He watched as Oberyn took a long swallow of wine from a bronze chalice and then first kissed the young child a servant woman was carrying, and then the other young child standing at her side. 

The man was drinking wine before their duel? Unarmored and exposed? Titus almost sighed in disappointment. This was likely going to be over too quickly, and he had hoped to see the increasing fear in the Dornishman’s eyes when the realization sank in that he wasn’t going to win. 

Without a word to announce the start of the duel Oberyn suddenly came towards Titus twirling his spear around him at lightning speed, bringing a huge smile to the face of the older of his two young girls. Oberyn smiled back at her and waved. 

This is all just a show for his daughters… Titus realized angrily. He wasn’t going to let the Dornishman stall and make him wait to engage him like a fool. Titus sprang forward and swung Blood Maiden down hard, but Oberyn stepped aside nimbly without even catching his feet upon the stones. 

“Do you know why this bridge is called Stranger’s Crossing?” Oberyn called to Titus as he danced around him, his face a manic grin of confidence and excitement.  


Titus didn’t answer but instead sprang forward again, bringing his sword down so hard that sparks sprang from the spot where steel struck stone. Oberyn twirled his spear idly and grazed Titus’s back, the tip of the blade scratching his armor. 

“I’ve heard of so many possible reasons.” Oberyn continued as Titus found his bearings again. “One is that so many come to this bridge to kill themselves by leaping into the river’s churning waters below. Another is that bandits corner travelers on the bridge and rob them and cut their throats.”

Titus charged again and aimed the point of his blade at the Red Viper’s chest. Oberyn deflected it easily with his spear and struck Titus’s helmet with the blunt end of his weapon. 

“My personal favorite…” Oberyn grinned as he spun his spear around him again, taking a moment to bow to his daughters, “…is that whenever two lords try to cross the bridge at the same time, one always ends up dead.”

Oberyn swung his spear in an arc over his head and brought it down on Titus’s shield. The blow sent a shockwave up his arm so fiercely that his teeth rattled.  
Oberyn was still taunting him, his mocking jabs starting to become angry shouts. “You see, somebody must always die on this bridge! The Stranger must always collect a soul to take with him back to hell!” 

“Shut up!” Titus screamed, refusing to let the man unnerve him. He started to reevaluate his strategy. Inside the helmet, he was suddenly finding it very difficult to catch his breath and the weight of his armor felt heavier all of a sudden. Every passing moment it was becoming harder to stand much less fight. Free of the burden of any armor Oberyn only had to wait to tire him before he finally struck the blow that would cripple him. Titus wasn’t going to give him that chance. 

He threw down his shield and pulled off his helmet, dropping it upon the stones in impatience and clutched Blood Maiden firmly in both hands. He was going to wait for the Dornishman to strike, to expose a weak spot, and then he would attack. No more charging forward and attempting to get a blow in, Titus determined to stand his ground. 

Oberyn, seeing his opponent’s tactics had changed stood his own ground and held his spear out before him, the point aimed at Titus’s heart, keeping a safe distance between the two men. 

“You perfumed lords in your fancy armor and your lion and dragon and ram banners. You think your position protects you.” Oberyn struck with his spear, quick as a snake, but Titus blocked it with his blade.

“You think your gold protects you.” Oberyn struck again, jabbing forward with the spear point, but Titus countered it again. 

“You think your golden ram protects you!” Oberyn screamed loud enough for anyone on either end of the bridge to hear. “Only this protects you, and I’m going to spear your ram and stab its golden horn right up your ass!” 

Oberyn jabbed his spear point forward a third time at the right side of Titus’s chest. Titus turned his body just in time for the spear point to miss his torso, but then the unthinkable happened. Oberyn’s spear found a chink in the armor on his right arm, right where the forearm met the elbow. Titus felt the blade bite deep into the meat on the inside of his right elbow, but before he could even fully process what had happened, Oberyn had twisted the spearhead. 

With an explosion of metal, blood, and bone, Titus’s arm broke as the spear tore a chunk of his flesh right off the bone and his armor shattered and flew off his forearm in jagged pieces. All Titus was aware of was the agonizing pain. He wasn’t aware that he had dropped his sword or that he had fallen to the ground. He wasn’t aware that Oberyn’s daughter was cheering while his own sons were crying. He wasn’t aware that Milo had leapt forward to hack off Oberyn’s head, but that the Red Viper had anticipated such an attack and had the bloody spear-point to Milo’s neck before he could reach him.

“You can avenge him or save him, but not both…” Oberyn had said with amusement. Titus hadn’t heard him. He had been screaming loud enough for any Wildlings just north of the Wall to take notice. 

Titus’s bannerman and wheelhouse driver had detached the horses and physically pushed the wheelhouse back off the bridge the way it had come, giving Oberyn’s carriage room to pass. Titus was unconscious at that point, however. Milo had hurled him over the side of his horse and was flying towards Oldtown and Hightower as fast as the beast could carry them, a tourniquet wrapped tightly around Titus’s useless right arm, leaving his sons and the wheelhouse far behind, his blood painting the grass beneath them as they rode. 

It was days later when Titus awoke in a dark cold room, shaking with fever, his right arm gone from the elbow down when Maester Rowan and Milo entered the room to solemnly tell him that the worst was still to come. He had been poisoned, and he may not live to see another full moon. Titus had cried until he passed out from panic and exhaustion. 

It wasn’t until a week later when Lady Locklear arrived and sat at her husband’s side that she had the thought to ask where Blood Maiden was. It would be nearly twenty years later before the family would finally get an answer, when it would be spotted being carried by Obara Sand on the sands of Dorne, about to do battle with Aiden Locklear.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come...


End file.
